in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
I rest in the grace of the wild, and am free.
I have been stumbling merrily over memories of you all day.....I keep seeing you open the door from the garage to the kitchen with your suspenders, flannel shirt, and an arm full of groceries, chuckling as you unload the loot...the pickles, the olives, the kiwi, the rootbeer, always the ice cream, the fixings for huge spectacular breakfasts, and the kiwi that I didn't even know existed.
I remember you nurturing your plants like a tender father. Even on one of my last visits, when living for you was getting more and more tiresome, you could still recall the names of your plants and where and when they became your own.
The glass grapes in your purple bedroom...the red shag carpet that I would love to squish between my toes, the oversized checkers, the magical cracker jar that was somehow always full, your many rocks scattered along the deck, each veined with happy memories of past excursions and adventures. The rocket park on hot sticky days, the Bountiful pool, Cherry hill Waterslide, Lagoon, picnicing at Sundance, going to the town art show, driving around in your motor home just because, the picture of the bearded man praying over his bread that always made me cry, even when I was little.
You sipped life like a glass of cold lemonade on a hot summer's day. Never worrying about the past or the future. Enjoying the gift of each moment to the fullest. Finding complete bliss in just watching others grow.
And you made it more than obvious that Grandma was the love of your life and your best friend. Teasing and flirting with each other like you were head over heels in love right until Grandma's last moments. Never a negative word, look, or gesture. Always a loving smile and a pat on the hand. There were plenty of things that you didn't have in common. Grandma loved travel and excitement and had some eccentricities, while you were happy sitting on your porch swing watching the hummingbirds and the setting sun beyond the Great Salt Lake. The monumental beauty of this was that you let her be who she wanted to be and loved her all the more.
you let us all be
who we were
and loved us
all the more
When despair for the world grew in me
Your home was a refuge
Where I could rest in your grace
and be free
You were a refuge